


Just One Night

by alafaye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/pseuds/alafaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has a proposal for Sherlock and John on Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sherlockmas on livejournal.

Mycroft adjusted his tie and smoothed down his jacket as he stepped out of the car. Inside the car, A-- giggled. He coughed. "What?"

Her face twitched as though hiding a smirk. "Nothing, sir. Nothing at all."

He opened his mouth to demand she tell him, when John Watson joined them. "Ah, hello." A-- giggle again.

John frowned. "Um, hi." He was restless, shifting just a little, and he licked his lips. Mycroft flushed. "Sherlock's in a mood, but I suppose you know that."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I'm hoping you'll join us. The conversation includes you and I'm afraid without your presence, Sherlock may take some...liberties."

John blinked. "Right." He shook his head and led the way up to the flat. Sherlock was on the sofa, captured by ennui and wearing far too few clothes. Ever since he and John had decided to take the next step in their relationship, Sherlock had begun to disdain clothing. It did have its rewards--Mycroft had never seen any couple ever have so much sex.

"As though my week could not get any worse," Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft, as I have told you before, I do not participate in Christmas festivities."

Mycroft could tell John was rolling his eyes though he was not facing the other man. "Sherlock, you have not attended the dinner in the last ten years--Mummy isn’t getting any younger, you know. Be kind and attend this year, please. And John, this invitation extends to you."

Sherlock sat up, eyes narrowed. "What are you up to, Mycroft?"

Mycroft frowned. "I am not up to anything. I am simply inviting John as your partner."

"John, we are attending your family celebrations this year," Sherlock announced.

John was silent momentarily before offering a hesitant, "I'd rather not."

"I had hoped you would realise what a...delicate situation rests there," Mycroft added.

Sherlock growled and turned to John. "It won't be pretty--we'll likely get into fights and throw food and make my mother cry."

"It's better than mine," John said with a dark tone.

Mycroft smirked. "I see a decision has been made. I'll see you both then on Christmas Eve." As he descended the stairs, he heard the beginnings of what would likely be a spectacular argument, but Mycroft was certain what the outcome would be. Spinning his umbrella, he smiled.

Everything was in place.

~~~

Sherlock was sulking in the car. "This is going to be horrible."

"As you have repeatedly told me," John said. "I know." Images of sharing the holiday with his sister and several bottles of alcohol swam before his eyes. Better to be going to whatever disaster the Holmeses called Christmas.

"Mother will question you relentlessly," Sherlock said.

"She only wants to make sure I'm right for you," John said.

Sherlock huffed and somehow pressed himself further into the seat. Silence prevailed until the car pulled up to the house at which point John said, "So, why did you need a flatmate?" The house was grand--at least three stories and boasted six windows each floor on either side of the middle of it. It screamed entitlement and wealth; why would anyone from such a background need a flatmate?

"Because my mother decided to set my trust fund for the age of 40," Sherlock muttered, glaring darkly at the house. "She had hoped that I would remain at home or at the very least complete my education."

"So instead you ran away to London and found yourself unemployed?" John teased. He began to reach for their bags, but the driver took them from him. "I suppose I can understand."

"You would," Sherlock said with a soft smile.

Inside the house, they were greeted by a woman who had obviously given her children the best of her looks. John smiled. "Mrs. Holmes."

She smiled widely. "Call me Mummy."

Sherlock sniffed. "You never took to Victor that way."

She sighed. "He wasn't good enough for you."

"And you don't know John at all," Sherlock said.

"Mycroft has such wonderful resources," she replied, tapping the side of her nose. John decided he liked her (despite her having spied on him, but she was Holmes). "Come, John. Drinks await."

~~~

John was tipsy, but it was nice. He finished his drink and tried to put it on the table. It teetered on the edge, hanging in the balance for a moment giving in to gravity. He reached out for it just as it was caught by someone else. He looked up and smiled. "Thanks, Mycroft."

Mycroft smiled and put the glass safely on the table. He sat next to John on the sofa and his body leaned close. "I'm glad you’ are here."

John shrugged. "Better than the alternatives," he smirked. "Imagine me and Sherlock, drunk at the flat? We'd probably burn it down!"

"Perhaps," Mycroft said.

John sighed and looked for Sherlock. He was glaring at the Christmas tree by the window and muttering to himself. "I think he did enjoy himself."

"He does love being here," Mycroft said. "Only he doesn't enjoy the way Mummy pushes him."

"Parents," John said. "Where is she? We were having a conversation just...a bit ago."

"She has retired for the evening," Mycroft said.

John blinked. "Really? I can't imagine her leaving all of the breakables here and go to bed with you two still in the room."

Mycroft chuckled. "Nothing here is too valuable, John. It'll be fine."

Sherlock was suddenly there, looming over them both. "What are you up to, Mycroft?"

"Can't you tell?" Mycroft said, leaning back, but also closer to John.

Sherlock scowled. "You've never wanted to share before."

"Oh, I don't want him exclusively."

"What are you two talking about?" John demanded, looking between them.

The brothers were locked in silent conversation and John was lost. After what seemed like hours, he cleared his throat--aside from the fact that their conversation was clearly about him, it was impolite to have a silent conversation with another person present! "What's going on?"

"Mycroft wants to join us," Sherlock muttered darkly.

"But--but...you're...brothers!" John stammered. Despite his protests, however, images of them together, like that, surfaced in his mind and his cock grew hard.

"And you have no objections, it seems," Mycroft said with a glace to John's crotch and coughed. "I think it's time for a private conversation. I'll leave you to it. If you both agree, I'll be in my room, waiting." And then he was gone.

John blinked and then found himself being hauled up and out of the living room. Sherlock continued pulling on him until they were in the kitchen. He began opening and closing cabinets and poking his head into the refrigerator. As he did so, John tried to wrap his mind around what had just been proposed. Two Holmeses, their attention completely on him. He shuddered, imagining how it would feel. He was drawn out of his thoughts when a glass of juice was put in front of him on the little kitchen table.

"It is something I discovered quite by accident," Sherlock said. "It won't poison you--merely something to sober you up."

John picked it up gratefully--he knew he needed his head clear for the coming conversation. The smell made him gag and his stomach threatened a revolt. A quick glance at Sherlock though--looking entirely too anxious--and he tossed it back. The taste was repellent and it grated down his throat in a way that was beyond even what he happened to swallow from the Thames that one time. "Ugh. You must have been blind drunk to even try this."

The look in Sherlock's eye said everything. "Sober? It doesn't take long."

Surprisingly, John did feel less foggy. He set the glass in the sink and leaned against the table. "So...you and Mycroft?"

"Indeed," Sherlock said. "We knew it was taboo," his face screwed up as it always did when discussing societal rights and wrongs, "but we didn't care. He was my first--I wanted to know why girls were always trying to kiss me. And then later..." He flushed. "I wanted to know why everyone seemed so preoccupied with sex. Mycroft seemed eager to teach me."

"How often?" John asked. He was burning with questions. He suspected first that there was more to it than what Sherlock was saying. He wanted to know where and what positions and who was on top and whether it was from Mycroft that Sherlock had learned that trick with his hand.

"A scant handful of times," Sherlock said. "When I asked him to fuck me the first time, he was just beginning his career. He didn't have much time."

"Wait, is that the reason behind your arguments? He dumped you?" John asked. It was an incredulous idea, crazy, but after living with Sherlock, it made sense.

Sherlock bit his lip and shuffled his feet. "I...admit it...does not help."

"Please don't tell me you will ever do any of that to me if we ever break up," John said.

Sherlock crowded in, eyes fierce. "You won't, will you? You aren't? We can forget Mycroft's idea altogether if--"

"Christ, no," John said. He cupped Sherlock's cheek. "I can't imagine living my life without you."

"Good."

John was silent, thinking. "So, what happened? Why stop?"

"Never mind," Sherlock said quickly, in a tone that said _secrets in the closet, leave them there_.

"Why now then?"

"Because he wants you," Sherlock said. "And he has been hinting to me for months--before you--that he wanted me again. I didn't want to for my own reasons and then there was you, and I would never do that to you."

"You'll cheat on your work, but not on me? Sweet."

"Mm, you're part of my work. You're amazing like that, John. Returned from Afghanistan just for me to have and play with."

John flushed--it was rare that he got compliments from Sherlock, even if they came in a backhanded way. "Did he ever stop asking?"

"He did, when we...he didn't want to intrude, I believe."

"And now?"

"He has a _crush_ on you."

John thought that over. He also thought about Sherlock's possessiveness. "And you want this? Tell me, Sherlock--do you?"

Sherlock looked away and sighed. "I must admit that it would be nice."

"With me there?" He had to know whether there would be a chance he would come home to find them entangled in Sherlock's bed sheets. No, it would more likely be the sofa or even John's bed.

"Would you want me to be alone with him in that way?" Sherlock was teasing, eyes bright.

"No." Of course not. He didn't...his stomach tied itself into knots at the thought.

"Then why ask?"

"So I know." John wasn't entirely calm, but he was more secure knowing what Sherlock thought.

"I wouldn't do that to you," Sherlock said firmly. "I...care very deeply for you and your happiness."

John sighed. "This does not answer what we're going to do right now."

"I don't know what to do." Sherlock looked lost as he usually did when it came to matters of bed partners and relationships, looking to John for help.

"But you want to." John was sure of that and he... "I want to. Mycroft obviously wants to."

"So we should." Sherlock sounded like he wanted to be sure of that, but John heard a note of confusion and hurt and loss.

"Only if we want to," John said. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and kissed his forehead. "We should set ground rules."

"I don't want it to be more than once," Sherlock said. "I don't like the thought of it being more than once."

"All right, just one time," John agreed. "Anything else?"

"Don't want him more than me?" Sherlock sounded so insecure and John wanted nothing more than to put a stop to this madness. But he knew that Sherlock did want this. Just once.

"I can promise you that," John whispered. "He's too posh and organized and controlled for me. I like a bit of wild in my men."

"I can give you plenty of that," Sherlock said, smirking.

"So, shall we go find him?"

Sherlock's nod was firm. Now that the details had been done and lines been drawn, he looked eager and hungry. John's body responded as it always did and he felt anticipation curl in his stomach. He took Sherlock's hand in his and tipped his head at the staircase. Sherlock grinned and led the way.

~~~

John hummed happily into Mycroft's mouth as they kissed, tongues sliding messily together. They were pressed chest to chest, erections brushing against each other through their trousers, and hands mapping bodies. "You are a brilliant kisser," John whispered with a smile.

"Yes, all well and good," Sherlock said. He looked a bit put out, being ignored; the moment they had entered the bedroom, Mycroft had been on John--kissing and rubbing and moaning. John pulled away from Mycroft and stepped to Sherlock. They shared a heavy kiss; Sherlock was smug when they separated.

Mycroft joined them and gave his brother another kiss. Sherlock sighed, hands flapping as they darted between John and Mycroft, unsure of where to touch. John pulled his shirt and vest off and reached for Sherlock's. Mycroft followed and they each took an end--John started at the bottom and Mycroft at the top. Each took a sleeve and Sherlock helped them get it off. As usual, he was wearing nothing under his shirt. He turned in John's arms and removed Mycroft's shirt and vest. He bent his head and busied himself with playing with Mycroft’s nipples that were already hard in the cold room.

John toed off his shoes and finished undressing. He sat back on the bed and lazily stroked his cock, enjoying the show. Mycroft was watching Sherlock, a hand buried in his brother's curls. Sherlock was slowly kneeling, bitting and sucking skin, until he was pulling Mycroft's cock out from his pants--thick and uncut. John's mouth watered looking at it. Mycroft shifted his hips and it bounced. Sherlock groaned.

"Not yet," Mycroft said. "You always did have the least patience--finish undressing, love."

Sherlock growled and stood so quickly John's head was dizzy watching him. In moments, they were all naked and the brothers joined John on the bed. They all lay on their sides, kissing and thrusting against thighs. Hands wandered freely and John wondered which fingers were breaching him. He stopped them, though, because there was no way he was going to let the night go like this. "How do you two want to do this?" he asked.

Mycroft moved away and wedged himself against the headboard. He opened his legs, beckoning John, "Your mouth on me and Sherlock will fuck you."

John let out a shaky breath and nodded. He settled between the spread legs and licked his lips. A bead of fluid gathered at the tip of Mycroft's cock and then fell. John chased it with his tongue and moaned at the taste when he caught it. He kissed his way back up to the head and took it in his mouth, sucking greedily.

Behind him, the bed dipped and then there was heat as Sherlock bent over John. He popped the cap on the lube and then his long fingers were preparing John, quickly and efficiently. Mycroft ran a hand over John's back as Sherlock pressed in, slowly. John whined and pushed back, wanting more. The brothers hushed him, one by lifting his hips and putting his cock in John's mouth, the other by pulling out and pushing back in quickly.

John shuddered and let Mycroft fuck his mouth as Sherlock fucked his arse. Caught and pleasured, heat began to build in his stomach, threatening to spill quickly. He tried to warn them, but their pace only sped up. It was clear as John came, untouched and shocked; they followed him soon after. Sherlock first, tipped by the tightening of John's body, but Mycroft was only seconds behind him.

"So you do have a thing for each other," John gasped, head resting on Mycroft's thigh.

Sherlock eased himself out of John's arse and sighed. "I did tell you."

Mycroft petted John's hair. "Thank you. I assume it was you who talked him into it."

John shook his head and sat up. He pulled Mycroft down and then Sherlock moved up; they were soon lined up, arms stretching out. "I didn't. He talked himself into it."

"Ah." Mycroft nuzzled John's neck and John could feel his hand rubbing his brother's hip. "Thank you, Sherlock."

"Mycroft--" Sherlock stopped. "I'm sorry."

"No, it was my fault," Mycroft said. "I let you go." He smiled at John. "And for the best, I think. It couldn't have been forever for us."

"I know." Sherlock's voice was full of sadness and John ached to turn over. But he was pinned and he suspected that that was deliberate. Used to Sherlock talking at him rather than with him, John wasn't upset; it seemed that the brothers needed this.

"And now you have John," Mycroft said. "He's good for you."

John raised an eyebrow. "What about you?"

"Oh, I have someone," Mycroft said. "Not yet. He has yet to meet me."

"Lestrade?" Sherlock sounded incredulous, but John could see it working out.

"He's rather handsome and he's very...talented in his field," Mycroft said though it was clear he was thinking of something other than how good Lestrade was at being a detective.

"Enough," John muttered. He wiggled between them, happy and content. "I need to sleep--I was told that we are expected for breakfast tomorrow."

Sherlock groaned unhappily and Mycroft sighed. John lay awake longer than either of them--surprisingly--and decided that though it had been an odd Christmas, it had been good.


End file.
